Negligentia
by Murkatroyd
Summary: AU. Six years after leaving Hogwarts, Harry Potter shares dinner with someone from his past and remembers some of the more important moments of his life. My take on the "brother of the boy who lived" story.


**Disclaimer –**  
The story of Harry Potter isn't mine, and I'm receiving nothing for fiddling around with it. Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. All I'm doing is messing around with her world. I won't accept any accusations saying I'm doing otherwise. The only things I take any claim for are the incantations and characters I have created for myself.

**Author's Note –**  
I'll use italics for letters, thoughts, Parseltongue, and any other forms of verbal and non-verbal expression that seem appropriate. I won't use bold tags for anything except chapter titles.

**Summary –**  
AU. Six years after leaving Hogwarts, Harry Potter shares dinner with someone from his past and recalls some of the more important moments of his life. My take on the "brother of the boy who lived" story.

–– STORY ––  
_**Negligentia**_

**Tuesday, November 16, 2004  
2:30 AM**

Harry quickly woke at the sound of the first knock on his door.

He sleepily raised his arm and flicked his wrist, casting a spell to check the time. Seeing how early in the morning it was, and with no wish to get out of bed at such an hour – particularly when work was at eight – he chose to ignore his late night visitor's knock. He cancelled the spell with another flick of his wrist and rolled over, his arm wrapping gently around his fiancée, who shuffled up against him without waking up.

The second knock also went ignored, though either the knock or his soft but irritable groan had Daphne shifting as though she, too, could hear it. Due to this, he was quite unable to ignore the third knock.

"Of all the bloody …"

He trailed off and grudgingly rose from his bed. It was clear whoever had decided to visit at such an hour was _not going away_. As he pulled on a pair of pajama pants and an old shirt, she turned around and faced him, half-awake as well.

"What's wrong?" she asked sleepily, tucking a long blonde lock behind her ear.

"Someone's been knocking on our door for a minute or two," Harry replied irritably, just as the fourth knock could be heard. He grabbed his wand and added, "I'm going to shoo them away. Be right back, love."

"OK," she murmured. She was asleep again before he even left the room.

Harry slowly walked into the main hall of the flat he and Daphne had shared for three years, and he unknowingly sounded much like his uncle, who he had only met in his early childhood, as he grumbled about the rudeness of people. If there was but one thing Harry Potter had in common with Vernon Dursley, it was a dislike of being bothered at night unless there was a damn good reason. Since Daphne was just fine and he hadn't heard anything from his friends, who would Floo call in case of an emergency, or Remus Lupin, who would mirror-call him in an emergency, there wasn't a good reason Harry knew of.

"Hold the hell on, would you?" he shouted irritably as yet another knock sounded through the flat. "I'm coming already!"

It was very unlikely there was an Auror at the door. They would have made themselves known long their fifth or sixth knock on the door. Perhaps somebody in the building needed help? It was rather annoying they picked the middle of the night to ask, but time didn't seem to matter too much when it came to trouble.

He flicked his wand at the door with a yawn, unlocking the charms he used to reinforce the locks, and pulled open the door.

Idly, as he stared at his late night visitor, Harry couldn't believe his guess of Auror had been closest. He wasn't wearing Auror robes, though, so it couldn't be an emergency. Even on the off-chance it was, the man looked far too intoxicated to be on duty.

"Sirius," he said slowly. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Harry," Sirius Black replied, a distinctive slur in his voice, which confirmed Harry's thoughts. "May I come in?"

"It's two-thirty in the morning," Harry replied, pocketing his wand and crossing his arms now. "I work at eight. Matter of fact, don't you work early, too?"

Sirius waved that off. "I booked off tomorrow," he said dismissively. "Don't need to be up in the morning. May I come in?"

"No," Harry said irritably. "I _didn't_ book off tomorrow, and I most certainly _do_ need to be up in the morning. In just a few hours, actually. Go bother Jacob."

"Can't," slurred Sirius. "He has Quidditch practice in the morning, needs to sleep."

"Then go bother Dad."

"He didn't book off work, needs to sleep too."

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered. Louder, he added, "My father and brother can't entertain you, so you disrupt me?"

"Harry –"

"_Good night_, Sirius." And he shut the door in Sirius's face.

He stared at the door for about a minute, half-expecting Sirius to resume knocking – he was certainly sloshed enough to do so, it seemed – but Sirius gave no further sign he was still there. With an annoyed, tired sigh, Harry flicked his wand and reapplied the charms before returning to his room. He forced all thoughts of Sirius, Jacob and James from his mind. This wasn't too difficult, since he could count the few times he'd seen them since his Hogwarts graduation on one hand.

Removing his clothes once more and returning his wand to his bedside table, he slid into the bed beside his fiancée and wrapped an arm around her.

"Who was at the door?" she asked softly, not bothering to open her eyes.

"Sirius Black," he replied in an annoyed whisper. He quickly closed his mind to the negativity he felt before adding, "Drunk enough to bother us in the middle of the night, but not drunk enough to bother my dad or brother. He's gone now."

"Hmm," she breathed, turning over to face him and wrapping her arm around him as well. "Good." Her eyes opened a crack, revealing a hint of the cerulean orbs he loved.

"Good night," Harry said, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she curled up into him.

"Good night, love," Daphne whispered, fast asleep once more moments after the words left her.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 16, 2004  
7:55 AM**

When Harry arrived at his desk in the Brain Room of the Department of Mysteries that morning, he found an envelope waiting for him.

"That showed up about fifteen minutes ago," said Broderick Bode, another Unspeakable. He was sallow-skinned, mournful-looking, and often spoke as though he was attending the funeral of a close friend. Not an easy man to get to know, but Harry thought they got along well enough, despite their significant age gap. "Brought down by one of the Aurors."

One of the – oh. Of course. It could only be Sirius.

"Thanks, Broderick," Harry replied. Bode merely nodded before continuing on to the Hall of Prophecy for the monthly check.

Since he still had a few minutes until his shift started, and Croaker wasn't too particular about punctuality, he opened the envelope with a small blade and pulled out a letter. It was short and written in sloppy handwriting.

_Harry –_

_I'm sorry about last night. You're right, it isn't fair of me to bother you just because your dad and brother aren't around. I'd still like to see you, though. Would you mind meeting me for dinner at the Leaky Cauldron this evening after your shift? I'll be there after five whether you do or not._

_Sirius_

Harry sighed and tossed the letter into the waste bin. He seemed to be sighing a lot today, and it wasn't even eight.

Last night wasn't a drunken fluke – Sirius really _did_ want to speak with him. Harry couldn't think of a reason. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever really spoken one-on-one with Sirius without his father and brother also being around. Sirius was Jacob's godfather, after all.

It wasn't that he had something against Sirius. He'd probably get along splendidly with the man if he actually knew him, despite last night. But that was the point: Harry _didn't_ know him.

So what did Sirius want?

* * *

**Tuesday, November 16, 2004  
5:05 PM**

Harry didn't know why he was bothering to meet with Sirius. His curiosity won him over, he supposed.

When his shift ended at four-thirty, he'd quickly made his way to the atrium and used the Floo to return to his flat. He quickly showered and changed into casualwear, penned a quick note for Daphne to let her know he was meeting Sirius for dinner at the other man's request and would be back in a few hours, and made his way to the designated Hogsmeade Apparition point.

All too soon – the point was pretty close to their building – he Apparated to the designated point in Diagon Alley and made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. As he stepped inside and took a look around, he noted that the old pub was not as busy as he'd thought it would be.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," said Tom the barman with a cheerful smile that looked creepy coming from the hunchbacked wizard with missing teeth. "The usual, I presume?"

"Not tonight, my friend," Harry said amiably, though he nonetheless approached the bar and offered his hand, which Tom cheerfully shook. Tom had been the barman for more than seventy years and was quite close to retiring. When he finally did, Harry's friend Hannah would be taking over ownership. As he enjoyed talking to both Hannah and Tom, he did his best to spare a Galleon or two to drop by the Leaky Cauldron for a few drinks every other weekend. "Actually, I was invited out tonight by Sirius Black. Has he shown up yet?"

"He's over in the corner booth," Tom replied, pointing the way. "Mentioned he was meeting someone for dinner, now I think of it. What'll you have?"

"Steak and kidney pie, I think. And a Butterbeer."

"It'll be ready in a jiffy."

"Thanks, Tom," Harry said, dropping a Galleon and five Sickles on the bar table. "You have a good night."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter, and you too."

With what might have been the hundredth sigh that day, Harry walked over to the booth he now knew Sirius was sitting at and, after a moment's hesitation, sat down across from him. He offered a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hello, Sirius."

"Hi, Harry," said Sirius, looking relieved. He offered his hand and Harry shook it. "Thank you for meeting me for dinner."

"No problem," Harry said, waving off the thanks. "So, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked, taking a sip of Firewhisky.

"Well, you showed up at my flat in the middle of the night without any warning," Harry pointed out, looking Sirius full in the face, "and then went into work despite being off for the day to invite me to dinner by letter. I have to assume something's going on. I mean, I moved out of Godric's Hollow six years ago."

"Six years," repeated Sirius, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. "Has it really been that long? Merlin, time flies …"

Harry didn't know how he was supposed to reply to this, and so he didn't. It wasn't a response to what he'd asked anyway. He decided to change the subject for the moment for now, but the question was not forgotten.

"Remus tells me you're doing well for yourself," he offered. "Still the number one field Auror the Ministry's got, anyway."

Sirius grinned. "Yeah, I'm still something with a wand in my old age," he boasted.

"Forty-five is old?"

"Merlin be damned, I'm forty-five?" Sirius moaned dramatically, putting his face in one hand.

Harry chuckled. He had only ever seen this side of Sirius Black when the man was with Jacob and James. That thought quickly stopped any amusement he found: this wasn't a side he was meant to see. He didn't think so, at least.

"It was your birthday a few weeks back, wasn't it?" he mentioned. "Twenty-sixth of October?"

Sirius blinked. He blinked again. "You, uh, remember my birthday?"

A sad smile crossed Harry's face. "I have a good memory, Sirius," he replied, thinking about his dabbling into Occlumency a few years ago. "A long memory, too."

Apparently unsure of how to respond to this, Sirius looked away. Harry let the silence linger. Sirius hadn't explained why he wanted Harry here, after all.

Harry couldn't think of anything the two had to talk about. The last time he'd even spoken to the man was at Remus and Nymphadora Tonks's wedding several years back. Even then, it was only polite conversation and nothing more, just as it always had been between the two.

Remus, Harry's godfather, was the only person from his childhood who he kept in regular contact with. He and Daphne were even the godparents of Remus and Tonks's two children. Teddy was now four years old ("Four and a half!" he insisted) and they'd just celebrated little Anna's first birthday in September. They had dinner with the Lupin family once a week, an arrangement that also meant Harry got to regularly visit Hogwarts, as that was where they lived.

One of Professor McGonagall's first decisions upon taking over as headmistress in 1997 was sacking Professor Binns and offering the ghost's post to Remus, who was looking for paid work for almost a year at that point. He quickly accepted and, within a year, made History of Magic a favorite class for almost all students. To be closer to Remus, and because she was disgusted by the Ministry's vocal disapproval of Remus teaching at Hogwarts simply because he was a werewolf, Tonks turned in her Auror badge and took over the post of Transfiguration. Her abilities as a Metamorphmagus, while not helpful to students learning the subject, at least kept them interested.

Daphne would join them at Hogwarts four years later when, at age twenty-one, she obtained her mastery in Potions. Professor McGonagall quickly approached her with an offer to teach the subject up to the OWL year, leaving Professor Snape, who was now deputy headmaster, to teach the NEWT classes only. She accepted and was later amused when Professor Snape thanked her more than once for lightening his workload. As she also wanted to continue her independent research, only teaching five of the seven years was fine with her. The only downside was that she could not take private quarters at Hogwarts because non-staff – Harry – could not live in the castle, but she assured the headmistress that she was satisfied with living in Hogsmeade if it meant still living with him. A week after she accepted the position, they'd moved from their Westminster flat and were settled in Hogsmeade, where Harry could Floo to and from the Ministry while Daphne also had the option of walking to and from the castle, which in good weather she usually took.

His thoughts changed course as he stared at Sirius, waiting for him to speak.

There were still times he wished he had a closer connection to his parents, but those times were fleeting and far between. He'd never been close with them. The longest interaction he'd even had with them outside of holidays was on his eighteenth birthday, the day he moved out. Other than that, the most they'd really done for him was provide a roof over his head, food if he was hungry, and presents at Christmastime. He supposed it was better than living with the Dursleys, their Muggle relatives, a family that abhorred magic, but it would have been nice if they looked up from Jacob every once in a while and at least noticed him.

He remembered the day he first realized he needed to do something if he didn't want to live in Jacob's shadow. He was seven years old and the only thing he knew of that he could do was study. So he did, he kept himself busy with his studies, spending the time he didn't spend with Remus on reading, researching, and taking notes on what he learned. Two years in, he had a bookcase filled with scrolls containing his notes.

He'd surprised himself with how much he enjoyed learning. It was _fun_.

The more he learned, the more fun it was for him. He discovered Arithmancy, which was taught from third year and on at Hogwarts, when he was eight years old and was drawn to it immediately. When he was ten years old, he was confident that as long as he continued self-study whilst at Hogwarts, he wouldn't need to take the class to pass the OWL and NEWT tests.

Though he indeed spent much of his time throughout Hogwarts on his self-study, he didn't isolate himself. He quickly found friends in all of his fellow Ravenclaw year mates, and even some of the older years. He also befriended most of his age group in Hufflepuff, which shared the most classes with Ravenclaw. Over the years, he even gained a few friends in the other houses. All the while he maintained top marks in his year, tying often with Hermione Granger, who studied as often as he did. Divination was the only course he didn't bother with, class or tests.

Of course, there were some bumps in the road. He found himself the target of Professor Snape's dislike in his first year, but he cleared the air with the professor early on and was treated neutrally from then on, which suited him fine. He also originally had an enemy in Draco Malfoy, who surprised Harry with his agreement to a truce. They even had a friendly rivalry in Potions class, usually tying for top of the year along with Daphne and Hermione. They would later become good friends through Draco's marriage to Daphne's sister Astoria, which was three years after graduation.

Harry also remembered being watched by Professor Dumbledore upon his arrival at Hogwarts. He'd felt the old headmaster's eyes on him at times, usually when he was in the Great Hall for meals, silently observing him. Not every time, of course, but enough that Harry felt uncomfortable. He later learned the reason from Professor Dumbledore himself when they met one-on-one for the first time, just a few months before Jacob, with Remus's help, discovered and caught Peter Pettigrew.

* * *

**Friday, December 17, 1993  
2:00 PM**

Harry looked at the large stone gargoyle with no small amount of nervousness. He had never been called to the headmaster's office before today and he didn't know why he was now. For the life of him, he couldn't think of any school rule he had broken.

"Liquorice wand," he said to the gargoyle, which nodded and stepped aside. He stepped through the threshold behind it and onto a spiral staircase, which began rising the moment both of his feet were on the step. It spiraled up several storeys until, far too soon, it ceased its ascent in front of a large oaken double door. Gulping audibly, he knocked twice.

"Enter," said a voice, presumably Professor Dumbledore's, behind the door.

Harry opened the door and slowly stepped inside, observing the room in wonder as he closed it behind him. Several tables were set up across the floor that held curious instruments of bright silver, some of which puffed out smoke, others simply glowing or spinning on one spot. Bookcases filled to the brim with books lined the circular office, and above the bookcases hung the portraits of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses of the past, all snoozing in their frames. Directly across from the door, upon a daïs that barely reached a foot high, was an enormous claw-footed desk, behind which sat Professor Dumbledore.

"Um, hi, Professor Dumbledore, sir," Harry said nervously. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd never been alone with the headmaster before. Being alone with one of the most powerful and influential wizards of all time was, frankly, intimidating.

Professor Dumbledore looked up from his report. "Ah, Mr. Potter," he said with a smile, as though nothing pleased him more than spending a bit of time with his student. "Good afternoon to you as well, my dear boy. Please have a seat."

Harry quickly did as he was told, now slightly calmer: he didn't know why he had been called to the headmaster's office, but Professor Dumbledore seemed jovial enough that Harry was pretty sure he wasn't in trouble.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore replied. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and set it on the desk before him, all the while peering at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. Harry felt himself fidget at this; he felt as though the old professor was staring right through him, and not in the way people normally did. "I must confess I am a little concerned about you."

Harry blinked, confusion now overriding anything else he felt. "Concerned over what?"

The professor held up the parchment, which Harry recognized as the sign-up list for those who were remaining at Hogwarts for the Christmas break. Harry's name was highlighted in a soft gold light halfway down the list.

"Oh, that's why you called me, sir?" Harry said slowly, feeling better now. It was clear he was not in trouble, but … "I, um, I've always stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays."

A small sigh escaped from Professor Dumbledore as he set down the parchment. "I would not normally inquire about this, Mr. Potter," he explained, "as the decision to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays is between a student and his or her family. In your case, however, I have known your family for some time and am distinctly honored to call them friends. As they are not leaving for any holiday trips that I am aware of, I would think they'd want you to return home to spend Christmas with them."

So that's what this was about. With only a small bit of sadness, one he couldn't rid himself of at the age of thirteen, he replied, "I don't think they would, Professor."

"What do you mean?" Professor Dumbledore prodded.

"I mean I've never been close with my family," Harry admitted, looking down at his lap. It all came out from there. "I was too shy, too quiet. Other than Re-er, I mean Professor Lupin, who's my godfather, everyone was too focused on Jacob to pay me any real attention. I guess I got used to it over time, but … well, Jacob basked in it, like any kid our age would. But that meant I was never close to him, because he was always too busy enjoying his fame to pay me any mind." He paused. "My parents … more often than not it feels like they don't have time for me, like I'm just not worth any real notice. I feel like I have to prove myself to them, like Jacob did after Voldemort's attack, just so they'll even so much as look at me. I thought getting top marks would help me there …"

He trailed off, still looking away in embarrassment. With a brighter smile, he added, "But it doesn't bother me as much anymore. I have my friends here, and I have my godfather when I'm not here. He's not as close with my parents anymore, but he still comes over to spend time with me. He's here over the break, too, so I'll get to spend some time with him while we're here."

His eyes focused on his lap, Harry didn't notice Professor Dumbledore's saddened expression at his words until the man spoke.

"I wasn't aware," he said, looking equal parts surprised and ashamed that he hadn't known. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry blinked again and looked up. Of all things, an apology was the last thing he had expected, particularly from Professor Dumbledore. "You don't need to apologize," he said uncertainly. "It's not your fault my family's the way it is."

"Thank you for that, my boy," Professor Dumbledore said with a small smile, "but I'm afraid some of the blame _does_ lie with me." At Harry's confused look, he sighed and added, "It was I who explained to your parents that your brother was the one marked by Voldemort that night. I told them this to make sure they would prepare him for Voldemort's return, just in case he ever surfaced and tried again. I knew your parents would put a lot of focus on young Jacob, but I did not think they would neglect you in the process, or perhaps as a result. For that, Harry, I am truly sorry."

Harry shook his head. Regardless of this bit of information, Professor Dumbledore was shouldering blame that rightfully belonged to his parents. He couldn't let the professor do that.

"It's still not your fault," he said. "My parents needed to know that Voldemort marked Jacob. If they hadn't taken him to St. Mungo's to have his scar inspected that night, who knows what that thing in his scar would have done to him later in life? You only asked them to be there for him and have him ready just in case Voldemort came back. You didn't ask them to be there _only_ for him. You have nothing to apologize for, Professor."

A wave of relief seemed to wash over Professor Dumbledore as Harry finished speaking. His midnight-blue eyes twinkled once more and he sat straighter. Harry's words seemed to make a world of difference to the professor, though the reason was beyond him.

"Thank you, Harry," he said again, eliciting a smile from Harry. He reached for a bowl on his desk and held it out. "Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

Harry took one. "Thank you, Professor," he said politely as he popped it into his mouth.

"You're welcome," he replied, beaming at Harry. "Between you and me, sherbet lemons are my personal favorite candy. I make it a point to offer them to the many students who I have watched pass through this office over the years – and even a few professors – but few can appreciate the simple, wondrous taste. Some," he added with disbelief, "even have a ridiculous notion that the candies are dosed with potions, which, depending on the rumor, can control or even wipe the memories of the eater."

He laughed at the notion, and Harry, who was enjoying the candy and contemplating buying some of his own, laughed with him.

"They're all missing out, then," he commented. "This is really good. Besides, what would you possibly dose candy with?"

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he put a hand beside his mouth and whispered conspiratorially, "Actually, some of the candies are mildly dosed with a calming draught, just in case the student in question is distraught at the time." In his normal voice, he added, "But I have a separate bowl for those."

Harry nodded. He hadn't noticed any change in his emotions since taking the candy a minute ago, and potions were fast-acting. He thought it was a good idea, too.

Another chuckle, and then Professor Dumbledore's expression turned serious once more. "As pleasant as that interlude from our discussion was, Harry, let us return to the original subject of our meeting. I need a suitable reason to provide Professor Burbage in order to excuse you from her class this afternoon, after all," he added with a wink, and it was Harry's turn to chuckle. "If I may speak frankly, I do not have an issue with you staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, especially in light of what you've just told me. However, I must ask if you're certain that your parents will not come to Hogwarts during the break to bring you home themselves."

"As certain as I can be, sir," Harry replied after a moment. "My mom will send their presents by owl or with Delphino, our house-elf – they don't forget about me at Christmas. I've already send them my presents with Hedwig, my owl."

"If you're sure," Professor Dumbledore said quietly. "It saddens me to hear this about two bright young folks I have had the pleasure of knowing for a long time … I only wish I was able to help you in some way, my boy."

Harry looked down at his lap again. "Are you going to talk to them about it?" he asked.

"Do you wish for me not to?" Professor Dumbledore asked, and Harry could hear the frown in his voice.

"Yes," he replied almost inaudibly.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see that Professor Dumbledore had walked around his desk and was now standing next to him. "I believe it's my turn to reassure you, Harry," he said gently. "I will not speak to your parents on your behalf, as you asked. However, I believe you should speak to your parents on your own, and let them know how you feel."

Harry sighed. "There's no point, Professor," he said quietly. "They know I'm there, but they don't see me. It's always been that way."

He paused, unsure if he should continue. Professor Dumbledore nodded his head, gently urging him to do so.

"After my first year exams were finished," he told him, "I couldn't sleep for a week. Not because the exams were difficult. I found them easy, actually." This elicited a smile from Professor Dumbledore, and Harry had a small smile on his face as he continued, "No, I was excited to find out how I did, to see for myself that I had top marks in my year, so I could show them to my parents and to my godfather." His smile brightened. "Remus was beyond proud. He took me out for dinner that night to celebrate." His smiled faded. "My mother smiled at me, patted me on the head as though she was proud, and went on her way. My father didn't care at all."

The smile on Professor Dumbledore's face was gone now as well, but Harry wasn't finished yet.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he said, forcing a shrug to illustrate his point. "I'm working toward my goals for after Hogwarts. Plans that, er, don't include my family. Once I graduate in a few years, I'll move out of Godric's Hollow and start my own life. Make my own name in the world. I don't want to be famous; I just want to leave a mark on the world …"

He trailed off, unsure if he should continue. "Go on," Professor Dumbledore urged him kindly.

"I want to work in the Department of Mysteries," Harry said swiftly. Seeing the look of surprise on the professor's face, he added, "It's always fascinated me – I know the Unspeakables study all sorts of magic, but everything they do is secret. I want to see what they do. I want to study magic. I want to apply for a position once I've finished my NEWTs."

The more he spoke, the more confident he became.

"I need top marks, of course, which I've been getting so far, and I know I can keep getting them. All I have to do is keep up with my studies like I've done since before Hogwarts. After a while, I won't even need my trust vault anymore. I can give them back every Knut. It's not like I ever use my vault for anything other than school supplies in the summer, or a treat every now and then …"

He stopped speaking, suddenly all too aware of just where he was, and just who he was rambling to. He looked up at Professor Dumbledore with wide eyes. He didn't know why he had said so much to the headmaster. Honestly, did Professor Dumbledore even _care_ about any of that? He was world-renowned and had three important positions in the wizarding world, for Merlin's sake! He had more important things to worry about than the career goals of a third-year. Harry suddenly felt very embarrassed.

It was to his surprise that Professor Dumbledore, far from rolling his eyes and muttering about children, smiled down at him and patted his shoulder.

"Said more than you thought you would?" he asked knowingly.

"Yeah," Harry replied meekly, averting his eyes, "I –"

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "You don't need to apologize, Harry," he said softly. "You should never need to apologize over being excited for the future and what it has in store for you." With a grin, he added, "I assure you, while working at Hogwarts was one of my main goals in life, I did not foresee myself as a member of either the Wizengamot or the International Confederation of Wizards, let alone as a leading member of both, when I was in my third year."

Harry smiled at this. It was hard to imagine Professor Dumbledore as a young man. No matter how hard he tried, the waist-length white hair and beard were always imagined.

"I have seen your accomplishments thus far," the professor continued as he returned to his seat, his words surprising Harry enough to look at him again. "I have seen the records of your excellent grades. Being at the top of your year is very impressive, my boy." Smiling at Harry's embarrassment, he added, "I have also seen your non-academic efforts, which have reached farther than I believe even you have realized."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, a bit shyly.

"It didn't escape my notice that you reached out to both a student and a professor with prejudices against you, if for differing reasons," said Professor Dumbledore. "It might interest you to know that Professor Snape treats your brother with the same neutrality he extends to you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "That's good," he said, more surprised that he hadn't already known such than anything else. Then again, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor didn't share Potions together. "I mean, there's no point to either of them hating the other."

"You are right about that," Professor Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with approval. "I am glad I spoke with you today, Harry, and I look forward to our next conversation. From what I have seen, and from what you have told me, I believe I am right in saying that you will leave more than just a mark on the wizarding world. I believe you will accomplish great things. I look forward to seeing that."

Harry blinked. He was stunned. Unless he was very much mistaken, he had just received high praise from the wizarding world's most powerful and influential citizen.

"I – thank you, Professor," he said in wonder. "I'll do my best to live up to your belief."

"I know you will," Professor Dumbledore replied, his smile widening. "Now, I believe I have taken up enough of your afternoon. As there is but a half-hour left until your class ends, I see little point in disrupting your peers by sending you to the classroom now, so you are excused from the rest of your class. I will speak to Professor Burbage about it later."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry repeated happily.

"You're welcome, Harry. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

"You as well," Harry said, and it was with a head held high that he walked out of the office.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 16, 2004  
5:15 PM**

Harry remembered how he'd worked harder than ever before from that day forward, fueled by both his desire to set himself apart and to prove to Professor Dumbledore that his belief in him was not misplaced.

However, Professor Dumbledore did not live to see the result of Harry's efforts. On a warm afternoon in August of 1997, Remus dropped by Godric's Hollow to tell Harry, who was so deep into his Occlumency research that he barely noticed it was August, that the centenarian had passed away that morning. Harry remembered all too well how numb he'd felt at the news, and Remus ended up spending the rest of the day with him, the research forgotten.

As sad as the news was, Harry knew that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't want people to fall into depression over his passing, and so he forced himself to remember the good experiences he'd had with the man. After all, he was watching from the next great adventure, as he often called it. He wouldn't be watching every moment, of course, but he was watching, and Harry didn't want to let down the man who had both kept his confidence and expressed such faith in him.

Professor Dumbledore's funeral was held a few weeks after Harry's seventeenth birthday, right beside the lake at Hogwarts itself. It was one of the clearest days in Harry's memory.

* * *

**Saturday, August 16, 1997  
1:30 PM**

It was just as big an affair as Harry thought it would be. Just by looking around, it was easy to see why so many said Albus Dumbledore was one of the most influential wizards of all time. The enormous turnout was the proof.

Evidently, Remus had similar thoughts. "Quite a crowd, isn't it?" he murmured.

"Yeah," Harry said softly, his eyes gazing at the assembled crowd.

"Dumbledore meant a lot to a lot of people," said Tonks, whose hair was its natural color of mousy brown and ended just above her shoulders. "A lot of these people probably never met him face to face, but everything he did for the world touched their lives in some way or another."

"It's still hard to accept he's gone," Harry replied. "I mean, we all knew Dumbledore wasn't young, but it always felt like he'd live forever."

Remus clapped his shoulder. "Go on up to your row, Harry. We'll catch up afterward."

"Thanks, Remus, Tonks," said Harry, clapping Remus's shoulder in return before turning and walking away.

It was a beautiful day for such an event. He looked over at the lake as he walked up the aisle, his eyes catching the gentle ripples in the water, signifying that the merpeople were just below the surface. From the corner of his eye, he could also see a couple of centaurs at the edge of the forest, silently watching the gathering before them. As his eyes moved toward the people themselves, Harry saw many faces, a few of which he recognized.

The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was in attendance in the front row with a delegation, all of whom had dignified grave looks. Fudge himself looked miserable, and Harry recalled one of his conversations with Hagrid about the man. He'd depended a lot on Professor Dumbledore in his early days in office – there might have been a friendship there, if only a tentative one.

Left of Fudge sat somebody who Harry didn't believe had a right to be involved with such an occasion. The look of grief on Dolores Umbridge's face wouldn't convince a newborn baby. Harry had a short list of people he had zero respect or tolerance for, and the current Senior Undersecretary to the Minister was nearly at the top. While it was true he'd never technically met her before, he was well aware of how difficult Umbridge made the lives of magical creatures, particularly werewolves, using her position. One of her laws passed made it almost impossible for werewolves like Remus to find paid work. Harry could never forgive that.

It was amusing to listen to Tonks speak about Umbridge. As an Auror who occasionally crossed paths with the Minister's office, she absolutely loathed Umbridge, who lorded over her position – which was not as significant as she liked to believe, despite its high ranking – to lower-level employees. Her views on and actions against people like Remus only intensified Tonks's loathing.

Another face Harry wasn't thrilled to see in attendance, though he was far less surprised to see her, was Rita Skeeter, the infamous _Daily Prophet_ reporter. Harry remembered all too well the tripe she wrote about his brother during the Triwizard Tournament two years before. Even now she sat in a middle row, a quill posed as though ready to hear and write a juicy piece of news. He looked away, forcing down a scowl. Some people were just pathetic.

Then there were the Malfoys. They were seated in the row behind Minister Fudge. Lucius Malfoy, the Minister's advisor, had an almost convincing look of graveness on his face, with his hands clutched around the head of his cane. His wife, Narcissa, was less convincing; her posture gave her away, though her face showed only what she wanted people to see. Draco, in contrast to his parents, merely looked bored. It was clear for anyone to see that he wouldn't be present if not for his parents. Harry frowned at this, but looked away before his Potions rival could catch his eye.

There were already a few students sitting in the front row, both former and current. Some, including Harry, were asked to speak at Professor Dumbledore's funeral. The ones who were asked were all honored to do so. Jacob would be speaking, as would Neville Longbottom, though neither had arrived yet. Harry wondered if Neville was picked because he could have been the boy who lived in another time and place, since he also met the qualifications of the prophecy. Then again, Harry thought, he did as well, and he was certain he was only picked because he had spoken to the late headmaster one-on-one a few times.

He took a seat near the end of the aisle and folded his arms, staring solemnly at the white marble tomb, which was impossibly bright and mounted right beside the lake. It didn't take long until he felt someone approaching him. A moment later, Daphne took her seat next to him.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," Harry replied, looking over at his girlfriend of nine months with a smile that didn't entirely reach his eyes, despite his best efforts. She would understand, though. He'd told her about his mostly one-sided connection with Professor Dumbledore. She might not understand the connection – he wasn't even sure if he did – but she would comfort him anyway.

"Are you all right?" she asked, placing a hand on his thigh just above his knee.

"I'll be fine," he replied, placing a hand over her hand. "It'd be selfish of me to wish he was still here, but I really wish he could have lived to see the result of my promise to him."

"I know," she said, squeezing his leg softly.

He was grateful he had Daphne by his side. He remembered how nervous he'd felt when he asked her out in November, and how surprised he'd been, not that he'd allowed it to show on his face, when she accepted his offer for a date. Nine months later, here they were. He wasn't sure how far their relationship would go – engagement was certainly far from his mind, never mind marriage – but he had a feeling they would be together for a long time to come. That thought cheered him up more.

Unable to continue staring at the bright marble, Harry turned his head and looked around. There were more people arrived now than the last time he'd looked; many faces he recognized but could not put a name to, such as the owner of the Three Broomsticks, the barman of the Hog's Head and the trolley woman of the Hogwarts Express. He also recognized a few others from the Minister's delegation. One of them was Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; he was friends with her niece, Susan, and even dated her a couple of times in their fourth year. He also recognized Barty Crouch, the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, from when he was at Hogwarts the same year as a Triwizard tournament judge. Harry noticed Percy Weasley sitting with him.

Soon enough, the funeral was underway. The official was a small, tufty-haired wizard from the Ministry, who spoke in a singsong voice about all of Professor Dumbledore's achievements in life. His work in alchemy with Nicolas Flamel, his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, his nearly one hundred years of employment at Hogwarts, his work with the Wizengamot that began when he was still a student at Hogwarts, and his fifty years with the International Confederation of Wizards. Even his enjoyment of tenpin bowling was brought up. This amused Harry more than anything; he remembered Professor Dumbledore telling him in his fifth year that he was actually terrible at the game, but still enjoyed playing when he found some spare time.

The official droned on for at least an hour, though it felt like far longer. He eventually concluded the service and asked for the speakers to come forward and share with the audience their experiences with Professor Dumbledore. The first, of course, was the Minister for Magic.

"It seems like only yesterday I took the post of Minister," Fudge was saying, looking a bit happier now that he was recalling fond memories. "I'm sure some of you remember that brief time shortly after I took office in 1990, when funds were a bit tight – the _Daily Prophet_ certainly enjoyed having it printed on the front page for a week or two."

Several members of the audience chuckled, and not all of them were from Fudge's delegation.

"I knew Albus had helped Millicent Bagnold with a similar problem when she was Minister, so I sent off a letter asking if it would be beneficial to reduce the budget allocated to the Spirit division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. There hadn't been much activity in the division for about three years before my asking and, as I said, the gold could be better used in other, busier departments. Albus replied that I was well within my power to trim the budget if I saw fit to do so, but also pointed out that ghosts and poltergeists around Britain might not like the reduced representation, and mentioned that he'd never been able to control Peeves."

The audience laughed appreciatively, particularly the older folks. Harry was surprised to hear himself chuckling, but not as surprised as he was to find that Fudge had a sense of humor. Then again, he might be the Minister for Magic, but he was also a person.

"Dumbledore taught Transfiguration when I was at Hogwarts," said one of the older Aurors, a tall man with short brown hair and a deep voice, when he stepped up. His name was Dawlish – Tonks mentioned him a few times – but Harry couldn't think of the man's first name. Jack, was it? "During one class in particular, early in my sixth year, we were tasked with transfiguring a raccoon into a sword. Transfiguration was not my strongest subject at Hogwarts, and in that particular class, my spell was just a bit off. Instead of transfiguring the raccoon's whole body, I somehow managed to transfigure its front paws into swords." As the audience laughed, Dawlish added with a chuckle, "My classmates laughed, and Dumbledore smiled as he told me that I would receive part-marks for creating, as he called it, an Auror's sidekick."

Harry caught sight of Professor McGonagall in the row behind him. She had a handkerchief at her eyes, apparently crying and laughing at the same time.

A few more Ministry delegates and officials rose to speak about Professor Dumbledore, each one talking about their own little experience with him, with more serious recollections than amusing ones. Soon enough, it was the selected students' turn to speak. The first two, surprisingly, were Fred and George Weasley.

"Just like everyone else assembled here, we both have a lot of respect for Professor Dumbledore," said the twin on the right, who Harry knew was Fred; he'd always been able to tell the two apart. Whether that was because he was a twin himself or for another reason was beyond him.

"He passed away before we could get the chance to know him, though he was quite close with our family," continued George, who nodded at his parents in the crowd. Mrs. Weasley beamed at the pair through her tears. "But there's one experience we shared with Dumbledore that we'll never forget."

"A few years back, Hogwarts hosted the Triwizard Tournament," said Fred. "Dumbledore himself drew the age line around the Goblet of Fire. 'No one under the age of seventeen shall pass', he said."

"Well, we saw it as a challenge and accepted it," George said with a grin. "Took on the headmaster's spellwork, we did."

"After the goblet blasted out our names, we suddenly had matching beards," Fred said, also grinning broadly. "Long white matching beards."

Over the laughs of the audience, George added, "After reminding us of his foolproof age line, he complimented us on our beards. Said he'd never seen any finer."

Harry wrapped an arm around Daphne's shoulders and pulled her against him, and she wrapped an arm around his back, both laughing quietly at the twins' anecdote.

The other students who got up to speak didn't have amusing stories to share, but it was clear that Professor Dumbledore had influenced their lives in some way or form, not unlike how he had influenced Harry's. When Jacob got up to speak, Harry was surprised to learn that the headmaster never summoned him for simple conversation like he had with Harry. No, Jacob's talks with Professor Dumbledore had always followed the little adventures Jacob had gone through with his friends Ron and Hermione in their first few years at Hogwarts, particularly when Jacob saved the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort and Professor Quirrell. Jacob met Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, the ancient immortals, a few days later when they personally travelled to thank Jacob for his efforts.

"The extraordinarily long lives of Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel finally came to an end with their deaths five years ago," Jacob continued. "They made the decision to destroy the stone to keep those who would misuse it from ever stealing it. The Flamels told me that at their age, well over six hundred years old, dying was a lot like going to bed after an extremely long day. Professor Dumbledore told me that to the well-organized mind, death is just the next great adventure." He smiled at the tomb. "I'd like to think he was reunited with the Flamels and all of his friends and family in death, and they'll all experience that great adventure together."

The audience clapped as the boy who lived finished speaking. Even the Malfoys joined in, if only to keep up appearances.

A couple of other students got up to speak after Jacob, including Neville, and then it was Harry's turn.

"I didn't know Professor Dumbledore when he was teaching," he began, a bit nervously in front of so many people, "nor did I know him through his long-time involvement with the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards. In fact, the first time I ever spoke to him was in my third year, just before Christmas, at his request. Since then, he invited me to speak with him on a few other occasions, and I got to know a bit about the man behind the legend. I can't say I _truly_ knew him, as he valued privacy as much as he valued passing knowledge down to others, but I'll never forget our conversations."

His voice was getting steadier and stronger as he continued. From all areas of the audience, he could see several people nodding in agreement, smiling.

"Professor Dumbledore was a man who didn't betray your confidence. He was a man so kind and just that he, one of the few humans to do so, bonded with a phoenix – one with a wicked sense of humor, too," Harry added with a smile. "The first time I met Fawkes, he burst into flames without warning and I thought for a horrifying minute or two that I'd somehow accidentally set _the_ Albus Dumbledore's bird on fire."

Most people in the audience laughed – from where he was standing, Harry could see the funeral official and the Hog's Head barman among those people. To his surprise, even Professor Snape was chuckling.

"He was a man who cared about the good that life had to offer and stood up for those who weren't fortunate enough to experience it for themselves. He enjoyed bowling in the limited free time he had and, despite his achievements, one of his proudest moments was having his name and picture put on a Chocolate Frog card. But most importantly, Albus Dumbledore was a man you simply couldn't help but trust. Despite his world-wide fame and influence, if you were in private conversation with him, he never allowed you to believe you weren't worth his time."

Harry looked over his shoulder at the tomb and smiled. He said, more to himself than anyone else, "I think that's what I'll miss about him the most."

The audience clapped as he stepped down and returned to his seat. Neville clapped his shoulder as he passed by, Hannah Abbott smiled softly from Neville's side, and Daphne took his hand as he sat down.

His mind was still wandering when the funeral ended. As he left with Daphne and her family, he didn't feel eyes identical to his own on his back, watching him with a thoughtful frown.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 16, 2004  
5:25 PM**

Less than a year after his passing, Harry discovered just how much Professor Dumbledore believed in him.

On the day of his graduation, two weeks after NEWTs were finished and graded, Harry was approached by an Unspeakable named Saul Croaker, who was contacted by Professor McGonagall and informed of Harry's ambition to join his department. She in turn had been told by Professor Dumbledore. Since Harry achieved Outstanding in all eleven of his OWLs and all eight of his NEWTs, Croaker was impressed and offered him a year-long contract with possibility of advancement. Harry accepted the contract almost before Croaker finished speaking. After the year was up, he was given a permanent position with the department.

Daphne remained at his side all the while, and he at hers. Between his high-paying Ministry job and her status as an international Potions mistress who taught at Hogwarts, neither would ever hurt for money. As he'd hoped, Harry never touched his trust vault after leaving home, and it was eventually reabsorbed into the main Potter vault.

He proposed to her on her twenty-third birthday during a trip to Paris and she happily accepted. They both agreed on August of 2005 for their wedding. He quickly asked Remus to stand as his best man, just as Harry had been best man when Remus married Tonks. Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, two of Harry's closest Hogwarts friends, would be ushers. Astoria would be Daphne's matron of honor, while Tracey Davis and Pansy Parkinson would be bridesmaids. It would be a small wedding, attended only by their family and closest friends.

And that was that. Harry was engaged to the woman he loved most, had the job he'd wanted since adolescence, and made a name for himself that had nothing to do with being a Potter. He was surrounded by close friends and got along well with his fellow Unspeakables. He was extremely close to his godfather's family and doted on his own godchildren. The only thing missing was his family, which didn't bother him anymore.

So why his past was trying to reach out to him now, through Sirius Black of all people, was beyond him.

"So," Harry tried again, "why did you want to see me, Sirius?"

Sirius looked at him, gray eyes meeting green. "Because we haven't talked in a long time," Sirius said after a few seconds. "Hell, we haven't really _seen_ each other in a long time, and we're both working for the Ministry. I guess I just want to catch up."

Could it be that simple? The only connection between them was the Potter family. Maybe it was that simple.

"OK," Harry said slowly, drumming his fingers on the table. "What would you like to know?"

"How's life treating you? How's work? Anyone special in your life at the moment? Anything you want to tell me, really. You don't have to tell me everything about yourself."

Harry didn't speak right away. He pondered what to tell the other man. "Well, there isn't much going on in my life at the moment," he replied slowly. "I couldn't be happier, though. I can't tell you about work, of course, since I'm an Unspeakable."

"Of course," agreed Sirius.

"I can tell you that for the last few months I've been neck-deep in research while working, and while I can't tell you what about, I can tell you that my findings may well change the way we all think about healing in the next fifteen, twenty years or so."

"Interesting," Sirius commented, looking a bit curious.

"It's a shame it'll be after most of our time," Harry admitted, "but it'll be a breakthrough either way. Anyway, my mate Terry just got married a few months ago to another friend of mine, Sally-Anne, and I was an usher. Learned the night before just how bad I am with Firewhisky if I have more than three in an hour."

Sirius snorted, throwing back some of his own Firewhisky.

"I've been with the same woman since we started dating in our sixth year at Hogwarts. We've been living together since I moved out, and we're getting married next summer."

Sirius snorted again, and this time a stream of Firewhisky shot out of his nose and all over Harry, who frowned and banished the alcohol and its residue from himself with a slight wiggle of his fingers.

"Sorry about that," said Sirius after a cough, not noticing the wandless magic. "But I thought you just said you're getting _married_."

"I did," Harry said, leaning back in his booth. "I proposed to her last year."

Before Sirius could reply to this, a tray bearing food and a bottle of Butterbeer arrived in the arms of a familiar face. "Here you are, gentlemen," said Hannah Longbottom with a smile. "One steak and kidney pie with Butterbeer, and one club sandwich."

"Thanks, Hannah," Harry said, shooting her a smile in return. "How're things on your end?"

"Pretty good, thanks," Hannah replied as she set down their orders. "Tom's just about ready to retire, so I've worked more and longer shifts lately. Makes it a bit tough to see the husband, since Neville's up at Hogwarts for most of the day during the week, but the days go by pretty quickly and he's over here on weekends. How's it going for you, Harry?"

"Pretty good as well," he said. "Work's been better than usual lately, and Daphne is doing well, so I definitely can't complain."

"That's good to hear," beamed Hannah. She looked at Sirius, who had remained silent during the exchange, and asked, "Can I get you another Firewhisky?"

"Thank you," Sirius replied with a small grin, "but one is enough on a weeknight, I think."

"Of course. Enjoy your meals, gentlemen!"

She walked away, her strut attracting to her rear the eyes of many men in the pub as it always did, and Harry quietly snorted as he took a swig of his Butterbeer. He set it down and looked up at Sirius, who looked ready to continue their conversation.

"So, how are things going in your life?" Harry asked as he helped himself to some pie.

"Good, but not on the same tier as getting married," Sirius said with a snort after taking a large bite of his own sandwich.

Harry shrugged. "What else is there to say beyond that? I'm marrying the love of my life next summer. Mid-August, actually, a little more than two weeks after my birthday."

"Huh," said Sirius, looking slightly put out. "I can't believe I didn't know before now." He stuck a hand across the table, smiling brightly again. "Congratulations, mate."

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said, taking the offered hand and shaking once. "You ever thought about settling down?"

Sirius laughed at the thought. "I suppose I should think about it someday soon," he admitted. "I'm getting too old for the carefree bachelor lifestyle. And yes," he added, remembering the beginning of their conversation, "forty-five is too old."

"Don't wizards and witches age slower than Muggles?" Harry pointed out. "You're practically in your thirties."

The thought clearly hadn't occurred to Sirius, for his eyes widened and he happily exclaimed, "Ten more years of bachelor life!"

It was Harry's turn to laugh. He raised his Butterbeer bottle and Sirius clicked his own bottle against it.

"You can come to my wedding, if you want," Harry told him after a minute of quiet.

Sirius looked up at him, surprise clearly evident. "Are you serious?"

"No," said Harry with a shit-eating grin, "I'm pretty sure _you're_ Sirius."

The older man thumped his head against the table, groaning loudly, which attracted the attention of diners around them for a few moments. "Someday," Sirius promised, "I'm going to track down my parents in the afterlife, and then I'm going to slap them both – at the same time – with one swinging arm – for giving me a name with such a horrible pun."

"I'm not sorry," Harry told him, still grinning.

"Oh, I know," Sirius said as sat up straight again. "The only one who's sorry is me."

Harry laughed at this, and then sobered up and became serious again. "But really, Sirius, you're invited. I mean, you're obviously not going to be in the wedding party, but you can still attend. It's set for the seventeenth of August, so book it off in advance if you want."

"Will do," said Sirius, who still looked surprised. "I'm just surprised you're inviting me, is all."

"To be honest, so am I," Harry admitted. "But the way I see it, you're an old family friend – granted, one I don't really know – and I don't dislike you, and you sought me out today, so I don't see a reason why I shouldn't. Daphne wouldn't be against it, either."

Sirius blinked after Harry finished speaking. Then he blinked again. He blinked four times before he finally said, "Thank you, Harry."

"No problem," he said. "Also, if you ever finally get married, I'm coming to your wedding."

"It probably won't ever happen, but deal," Sirius replied with a small smile. It disappeared quickly as he asked, hesitantly, "You're inviting your family, right?"

Harry looked away. Truth be told, he didn't really want to invite his family. It felt wrong, somehow, to have them attend one of the happiest days of his life, when they'd never taken any real interest in his life before. Sure, he'd invited Sirius, another virtual stranger to him, but that was different. Sirius was never under any obligation to notice Harry, and he was the one who made the effort today.

He knew Remus would want him to invite them. He would make it clear that the decision was Harry's, but he would want Harry to invite his family, if only for himself. Daphne, like Remus, would let Harry have the final say, even knowing that his family might not approve of her.

That was another reason Harry was hesitant to invite them: he wasn't sure how they would react to Daphne, simply because she was a Slytherin while at Hogwarts. He recalled only too clearly how much Jacob had disliked Slytherins in their time there, and he knew James was the same way. Lily wouldn't mind so much – she'd been friends with Professor Snape for five years while at Hogwarts – but she probably wouldn't reign in Jacob if he made his disapproval known.

Their opinions didn't matter to Harry. Given the choice between his family and his fiancée, he would pick Daphne without even thinking about it. He was closer to her by far than he ever was to them. But he would not invite trouble to his wedding. If they accepted his invitation only to ruin the day, that would be the last straw for him.

It was always possible that things had changed since he'd moved out, of course. His mother in particular was different, regretful, on that day.

* * *

**Friday, July 31, 1998  
3:45 PM**

Harry looked around the room as he put the last of his shirts in his trunk. Not for the first time, he was glad he'd spent the money on a trunk with multiple compartments – five, to be exact. Alastor Moody had told Harry where he'd ordered his own six compartment trunk from, which he had added a seventh to at some point after as a means of holding suspects, primarily Death Eaters. It was a very useful creation.

Things were looking up for Harry. His Hogwarts life was finally over and though he would miss the castle, his life as an independent adult was just beginning. He and Daphne had found a flat in Westminster just a few weeks before that went for a reasonable monthly price, and in just under an hour it would be his new home.

They could afford the flat thanks to his contract with the Unspeakables. Croaker had given him an advance of two hundred Galleons – out of his salary, of course, which was one hundred Galleons biweekly – and he'd immediately had it converted into pounds sterling so he could pay off three months of prepaid rent and still have pounds to spare for future rent payments.

His trust vault remained untouched. He'd told Croaker about his intention to leave it until his family eventually had its contents reabsorbed into the main vault, and Croaker understood. Harry didn't know why the Unspeakable was doing so much for him, since all he was to Croaker at the moment was a contract employee who wasn't even off probation, but he wasn't about to say anything. He'd been dreaming about this job for most of his Hogwarts life, after all.

The way he saw it, there was no better day to move out than today, his eighteenth birthday. It wasn't as significant as seventeen, the beginning of adulthood, but he couldn't have moved out last year. Well, he _could_ have, he supposed, but he _really_ didn't want to use his trust vault. He'd only used it for school supplies and he was firmly against using it for anything else. He didn't want to be in his family's debt, even if they would never call him on it.

He turned toward his bed and, with a lazy wave of his wand, shrunk it enough that it would fit in the fourth compartment of his trunk. His pillows, blanket and headboard soon joined it. He'd put his clothes in the first compartment, his bookcases in the second, and his books and notes in the third. His desk and chair would be going into the fifth compartment. All that was left after that were the clothes on his back, his wand, and Hedwig, who he'd sent out for a fly with instructions to find him at his flat later.

A knock on the door interrupted him. "Yeah?" he called out.

The door opened and his mother walked in. He looked up from his trunk, identical pairs of green eyes meeting, though he looked away quickly. She was dressed as impeccably as usual; as the mother of the boy who lived, she was always dressed in a way women like Narcissa Malfoy dressed. Elegant robes and the like.

"Hi, Mom," he said distractedly as he shrank his headboard.

"Harry," she replied softly. She looked around the nearly bare room and the small smile she wore dimmed noticeably. "Almost finished, I see."

"Yeah," he replied, a little awkwardly. He flicked his wand to shut the compartment and trunk, then sat down on it and looked up at Lily again. "Another few spells, I guess, and I'll be done."

Lily flinched. It was barely noticeable, but enough that he could see it.

"You can have supper with us before you leave," she said quietly. "If you want, of course."

Harry smiled and shook his head, gently saying, "Thanks for the offer, but I'm already meeting some of my school friends for supper in Hogsmeade later tonight. We're having a joint birthday supper for myself and Neville Longbottom, since it was his birthday yesterday."

Lily nodded, looking a little disappointed. Harry wondered what had her upset. He didn't think it was anything he'd said or done.

"Something wrong, Mom?" he asked guardedly.

She sighed again and sat down on the trunk next to him. She looked straight ahead for a few long moments before turning her head to face him.

"It feels like I've missed out on something I can't ever get back," Lily admitted, her voice quiet to the point it was nearly inaudible.

"Meaning?" he inquired, knowing there was no point to his question. He knew what she meant.

"That I've missed out on your life," she replied softly.

Harry sighed. He wasn't about to refute something that was truth, but not doing so made this whole conversation more uncomfortable. "Mom …"

"Don't, honey," Lily interrupted, looking away from him. "I can't lie and say your father and I didn't ignore you in favor of your brother, because it's obvious we did, but … I wish I could turn back time and fix that," she said a bit lamely. "After hearing what you said at Dumbledore's funeral last summer … I – I don't know …"

He didn't know what to say or do. He really didn't want to have this conversation, least of all with Lily, but there was nothing for it now. His mother brought it up, and he couldn't just ignore her and continue packing.

He locked his fingers together in his lap and gazed down at them, contemplating what to say. Yelling and raging at her was pointless, for two reasons. The first reason was she was already aware of the issue, so throwing it at her out of anger was pointless. The second reason was he didn't feel any real resentment towards his family. He loved them, he supposed, but he was otherwise pretty indifferent about them, and had been for a long time.

"I don't know what to tell you, Mom," he said finally. "I'm not resentful or anything. I guess I would have been if I was alone, but, well, I had Remus. It doesn't bother me anymore. I know _he's_ more important to the wizarding world than I am, what with his early Hogwarts adventures and all, and that's important to you and Dad." He smiled at her. "I'm eighteen now. I'm too old for childish jealousy."

Lily smiled as well, though it was a watery sort of smile.

"That's one of the reasons why I've worked so hard at school, I guess. I would never be content living in Jacob's shadow, and now I know I'll never have to. I have a great job, one that I've been working toward for a long time, and now I have a place of my own, too. It's time for me to move on with my life."

He didn't bring up Daphne. He didn't know how she would react to that and wasn't interested enough to find out.

"I've never been close to any of you," he said quietly, "and I don't know how to get close to you now."

"I understand," Lily said, her voice trembling a bit. "I'm sorry we weren't there for you, Harry."

Harry unlocked his fingers and wrapped an arm around his mother's shoulders, something he'd been trying not to do simply because he didn't think it would be appropriate. He wasn't sure whether he was surprised or not when she leaned against him, accepting the comforting gesture.

"Don't be sorry," he murmured. "I'm still your son. You're still my mother. I still love you."

"I love you too, Harry," said Lily in almost a whisper. She swallowed and changed the subject. "If you're willing to satisfy your mother's curiosity … where are you working?"

"In the Department of Mysteries," he replied with a smile. "Professor McGonagall recommended me to Saul Croaker, and he offered me a contract the same day I graduated. It's just for a year at the moment, but, well, who knows?"

Lily looked up at him. "The Department of Mysteries?" she echoed, whistling softly. "That's wonderful. I – I'm proud of you."

He blinked. Those weren't words he'd ever heard from his mother before. He'd heard them from Remus many times, from Tonks and Professor Flitwick from time to time, and even from Professor Dumbledore once before he died, but never from a member of his family.

"Thanks, Mom," he said quietly.

She smiled sadly at him, apparently thinking along the same lines, and wrapped an arm around his back for a quick one-armed hug before standing up. "Do you need any help with the rest?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "I have almost everything packed now," he replied.

She was about to reply when they were interrupted by his father walking into the room. "Lily, have you seen – oh," he said, sounding surprised. "That's right, you were moving today."

Any trace of a smile was wiped from Harry's face. He wasn't surprised his father had forgotten; it was Jacob's birthday, after all.

"Yeah," he said noncommittally.

He stood up and opened his trunk once more with a flick of his wand. With another flick, the desk shrank itself to a small enough size to fit into the compartment as it flew through the air toward him. The movements of his wand directing the desk through the air, he brought it over and into the compartment. He then did the same with the chair.

James watched his movements, looking impressed. "Those were well-executed silent spells," he said, his tone matching his look. "Can you use wandless spells, too?"

"A few," Harry replied, only a bit truthfully; he could actually do all the spells learned in the first four years at Hogwarts without his wand, and a fair few from his fifth year.

He put his wand in his pocket and pointed a finger at his trunk. A moment later, it gently lifted into the air and hovered three feet above the ground. He swished it around a bit by moving his finger around before setting it back down.

Now James looked really impressed. So did Lily. "You did that with more ease than I've ever managed," James said, letting out a low whistle.

The smile returned to Harry's face. "I've practiced a lot," he said simply by way of explanation, unsure of how else to react to his parents' praise.

Harry balled his hand into a fist and raised it to eye-level. He opened his hand, and Lily yelped as a ball of fire the size of an apple hovered an inch above his palm. He allowed the fire to produce a few embers before closing his hand again, dispelling the fire instantly. Seeing the looks on his parents' faces, he opened his hand once more, showing that the fire hadn't damaged his flesh in the slightest.

"Hours and hours of practice," he added.

"I think I should start practicing more," said James a little sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "I can do some spells wandlessly as well, but what you just did is way beyond what I'm capable of."

"Not really," Harry said with a shrug. "I think it just runs in the family. From what I read about Granddad, he was pretty gifted without a wand, too."

"He was," said Lily with a smile. "He conjured roses for me without a word or wand the first time I was introduced to him. Very charming man, your grandfather."

Harry's smile dimmed a little. He would have liked to meet his grandparents. From what he knew about them, Dorea and Charlus Potter were about as close as two people could be without bonding their souls together. Charlus was devastated when his wife succumbed to an illness in the last month of 1977, during James's last year at Hogwarts. She was fifty-seven years old at the time. Charlus, himself only two years older than Dorea, followed her in death only two years later of what James said was a broken heart.

"I can send you the books I used to research wandless magic, if you want," he said, bringing the subject back. "They were a big help to me."

James grinned at him and playfully said, "You Ravenclaws and your books. That'd be great, yeah. I'll see if Jacob wants to improve as well – he's around my level, maybe a little lower."

Privately thrilled at the idea that he was more accomplished with the skill than his brother, Harry smiled and nodded.

"Well," he said, the awkwardness returning to his voice, "I guess I should head out. We're all meeting in Hogsmeade in a couple of hours and I have some more things to pick up for the flat." It was his turn to rub the back of his head. He had no idea how to say goodbye.

His parents didn't either, apparently. "I – yeah," James said lamely. He pulled Harry into an awkward hug. "Take care, son."

"Will do, Dad," Harry replied, clapping his father's back once before breaking away. The hug he shared with his mother wasn't as awkward but was still more uncomfortable than any he'd ever had from Daphne or Tonks. "Bye, Mom," he said quietly.

"Bye, Harry," she said just as quietly, holding him gently before letting go.

Harry smiled at them one last time. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and his trunk lifted into the air as though held up by a hook. With one last look around to make sure he had all of his things, Harry indicated for his trunk to follow him and walked out of the room. A minute later he stood on the front porch of his childhood home, looking at it one last time before taking his trunk in hand and Disapparating.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 16, 2004  
5:40 PM**

Harry sighed as he pondered his answer a bit more, helping himself to some more pie. He wondered if Sirius ever felt this conflicted about his own family when he was younger. The Blacks were abusive in addition to neglectful, true, but was it as simple for Sirius as severing his ties with them without looking back?

"I suppose I'll send an invitation," he said finally. "Whether they come or not is another story. I have a feeling Dad and Jacob will have problems with Daphne, and if that's the case, well, there isn't any point to inviting trouble to my wedding."

"Why would your dad and brother have problems with your fiancée?" Sirius asked with a frown.

"Because she was a Slytherin at Hogwarts," Harry replied. "Most Slytherins and Gryffindors can't seem to breathe the same air without finding countless faults with one another."

Sirius's frown deepened, but he didn't refute the point. Harry knew he couldn't. "Who did you say your fiancée was?" asked Sirius after a few moments' pause.

"Daphne," Harry said. "Daphne Greengrass."

Sirius blinked. "I remember that surname," he said quietly. "One of my great-aunts was a Greengrass, I think. Quiet bunch, they are."

"Cilan and Linda run a small chain of apothecaries," Harry told him. "Daphne's parents," he added, noticing Sirius's raised eyebrows. "It keeps them busy. They were never on Voldemort's radar because they aren't rich or well-connected. They're just purebloods. He had no reason to target them, but he also had no reason to attempt to bring them into his ranks. They're well-off from running their own business, but they don't have anything close to, say, what the Malfoys or Notts have."

"I don't think anyone has close to what the Malfoys have," Sirius pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "I've never thought to ask Draco too much about his financial status. I accept that the Malfoys are filthy, stinking rich and leave it at that."

"'Draco'?" Sirius echoed, eyebrows raised again. "You're on a first-name basis with the youngest Malfoy?"

"More than that," Harry replied. "Draco is a good friend of mine. We had something of a Potions rivalry when we were at Hogwarts together, and he married Daphne's sister a few years ago, so we occasionally share breathing space. The more Daphne and I hung out with them, the better he and I got along."

Sirius wasn't listening. He seemed to have stopped listening after the first sentence. "You're friends with the Malfoy heir," he repeated blankly.

"Yes."

"A Potter is friends with a Malfoy."

"Well, for now," Harry pointed out. At Sirius's look, he elaborated, "Next summer, we'll be brothers-in-law through our wives."

Sirius didn't reply. It wasn't entirely clear if he _could_ reply.

Harry let out the longest sigh of the day. "Astoria, Draco's wife, will be the matron of honor at my wedding," he said. "That means Draco will be there. I really don't know if Narcissa and Lucius will be in attendance – probably not, considering they have no real connection to me or Daphne, though she may invite them simply because they're her sister's parents-in-law – but there is no question of Draco's attendance."

There was still no reply from Sirius.

"Look," he continued, "if his presence at my wedding is too much for you to handle, then I suggest declining my invitation now. I promise you won't hurt my feelings." When Sirius again didn't respond, looking as though he really was reconsidering, Harry added, "He's not the person you think he is."

"Really," Sirius said skeptically, his expression one of supreme disbelief as he finally replied.

"Really," Harry repeated, a bit coolly. "And please, don't ask me if I'm sure about that."

"With a father like _Lucius_ and a mother like my cousin Narcissa, you'll excuse me if I'm a bit disbelieving, Harry."

"You can be as disbelieving as you'd like," Harry said, his unblinking gaze boring into Sirius's. "I'm certainly not telling you what to think. But I've been friends with Draco for several years and I've known him for even longer. I assure you, he's not a spokesman for the pureblood supremacists' agenda."

"That's not what Jacob tells me," Sirius said, looking angry now. "Little Malfoy was apparently quite the parrot for that agenda at Hogwarts."

"Did he tell you that Draco had all but stopped with that by our fourth year?" Harry retorted. "Sure, he was like that for the first few years at Hogwarts – when he was a child, fresh out of his parents' uninterrupted conditioning –"

"Exactly," Sirius declared, as though Harry had just proved his point. "The boy was brought up from the day he was born to believe he was superior to virtually everyone, especially half-bloods and Muggleborns. Sure enough, he gets to Hogwarts at eleven and –"

"– does his damnedest to not disappoint the only family he has left," interrupted Harry, resigned to the conversation now. The catching up was effectively over. "Not every pureblood child is brave enough to rebel against their family at such an early age, Sirius, and Draco didn't have a younger brother who could live the pureblood scion life for him."

He knew this was a bit of a low blow, but Sirius ignored it and said, "Are you really trying to tell me the Malfoy boy didn't enjoy his spoiled upbringing, Harry?"

"No, I'm not," he replied. "I'm sure Draco greatly enjoyed his spoiled upbringing, just as I'm sure Jacob enjoyed his and most pureblood children enjoyed theirs." Before Sirius could move to interrupt, Harry smoothly said, "That doesn't mean Draco held to everything his parents believe. He might have parroted them as a child because he didn't know any better, but he grew up. He formed his own opinions." Remembering something Rubeus Hagrid once said, he added, "After seven years at Hogwarts, he didn't even recognize himself."

"You really think people like Malfoy just up and _change_?" Sirius scoffed, waving off Harry's words. "Don't be ridiculous. People like that are good at playing the other side, especially when they have to play up their embarrassment at being caught with their hand in the bowl of liquorice wands like Lucius Malfoy, but they never change."

"Severus Snape certainly changed," Harry said quietly, "and he was as deep into the Death Eater ideals as any of them when he left Hogwarts."

"Snape is a lot of things," Sirius said with a bite of coldness, "most of which I can't say in public."

"He saved Jacob's life in our first year," Harry reminded him. "Does that sound unchanged to you?"

"No," said Sirius simply. "Keeping his cover is something Snape is very good at."

"That's not an argument," countered Harry. "Snape had no obligation to save Jacob. Quirrell cursed his broomstick in the middle of a Quidditch game, in a pitch containing almost all the adults employed at Hogwarts. Snape could have let it all happen and no one would have blamed him without every adult taking blame. Instead, he took it upon himself to fight off Quirrell's curse. Why would he do that if he hadn't really put his Death Eater ways behind him?"

"Use your head, Harry," Sirius replied. "When Voldemort fell, the only thing keeping Snape from getting a one-way ticket to a lifetime in Azkaban was Dumbledore. Anyone with protection on that level would go above and beyond to keep it, and Snape is no different. Saving the son of a man he loathed was a sure-fire means of keeping that protection."

"Give me a break," muttered Harry. In a louder, more impatient voice, he said, "Dumbledore's been dead for more than seven years. If there was an outstanding warrant for Snape's arrest and Dumbledore was the only one keeping it from happening, why is Snape still free now? Why is he now deputy headmaster of Hogwarts? People whose records were cleared of all charges can get promotions like that, but people on the brink of prison cannot."

"They can when people like Lucius Malfoy have the Ministry in the palm of their hand."

"That's your argument now?" Harry said scornfully. "Lucius Malfoy, who you think is just waiting for the right moment to resurrect Voldemort because he's just that damn evil, is going to pull the strings to secure a promotion for a man who betrayed his side of the war?"

"Slytherins protect Slytherins," Sirius said with a shrug. "It's a creed my family followed religiously. It never seems to matter who or why. Don't ask me to work out how they think."

So it wasn't just prejudice, Harry thought. It was unthinking prejudice. Blind prejudice. How people could actually be like that was beyond him. It was beyond incredible. "So it's basically down to the old argument that Slytherins as a collective can't be trusted," he said coldly.

"Not as far as you can throw them," Sirius replied firmly.

Harry sighed. "I've made a mistake, then."

From the expression on Sirius's face, Harry thought for a moment that he might have gotten through to him somehow, but then Sirius said, "Yes, but it's not too late to fix it. You can – and should – still cut off ties with the Malfoy boy."

"No," Harry said in a voice barely higher than a whisper, "my mistake was inviting you to my wedding."

He could feel his veins run cold at the very thought of what Sirius was implying. His mind could easily show him what would come of cutting out Draco without explanation. Astoria would stand by her husband, her relationship with Daphne would be splintered, and Daphne would … he couldn't think about that.

And for what? Because Sirius was prejudiced against a man he didn't even know?

"We're not living in the nineteen seventies anymore, Sirius," he said in the same voice, rising to his feet now, what was left of his meal forgotten. "Things have changed for the better, in case you haven't noticed. The wizarding world isn't at war. Voldemort isn't lurking in the shadows anymore. Sure, I won't deny that the world would be a nicer place without men like Lucius Malfoy influencing it from the shadows, but people shouldn't have to be painted with the same brush as the Death Eaters just because they were in Slytherin house. And that's just about all I've left to say to you."

Sirius looked incredulous. "Harry –"

"No," Harry said, cutting across him. He kept his voice low so as not to draw attention to them. "Frankly, Sirius, we don't know each other, and if you showing up in the middle of the night to disturb my fiancée and I wasn't enough to show me that we were better off keeping it that way, this conversation certainly has. Thank you for reminding me of a reason why I left home so early. I'm _terribly_ sorry I didn't propose to a Gryffindor."

He walked away without another word, ignoring Sirius's spluttering.

* * *

**Sunday, September 01, 1991  
6:45 PM**

Harry looked around nervously, taking in the magnificent hall and everything in it. Growing up he'd heard so many stories about Hogwarts, mostly from Remus, but seeing the castle for the first time was on another level. He was looking forward to living here for the next seven years.

Of course, he was also aware of the prejudices in the wizarding world that all started here, right down to the feud between the school houses. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw weren't a major part in that feud – Hufflepuff was mostly dismissed by everyone involved, sometimes including themselves, while Ravenclaw was seen as the neutral choice – but Gryffindor and Slytherin were at the heart of it. Friendship between two kids in such opposite houses was just unheard of.

He knew his family was primarily Gryffindor – his grandmother had been a Slytherin, a topic that just wasn't discussed in the Potter house – but he privately hoped he was sorted into a house that wasn't involved in the feud. Ravenclaw sounded nice. He'd always loved reading and he was very studious; he'd spent so much time studying Arithmancy, after all.

He wondered idly, as he had so many times before, if he'd be able to get away with simply taking the OWL and NEWT tests for Arithmancy without taking the class itself.

As Harry and the other first year students walked up the middle of the Great Hall, taking in everything from the house tables to the ceiling that seemingly extended into the skies above, he heard the nervous whispered chatter all around him. A bushy-haired girl next to him was telling anyone who would listen about the charm that allowed the ceiling to blend in with the sky. He saw Jacob glance at Ron Weasley, who grinned back at him and rolled his eyes at the girl.

Sooner than they were ready, the students were stopped in front of the steps leading up to the head table, where almost all the professors were seated. As Professor McGonagall walked up to a stool at the top of the steps, upon which was seated an old hat, Harry observed the professors. He recognized Professor Flitwick, an extremely short wizard who was seated upon several books stacked on his chair, and Professor Sprout, a squat witch with wavy grey hair. He also recognized Professor Snape, a thin man with long, greasy black hair and a large, hooked nose, from Remus's description of the man from his various stories, though Harry had no idea who the pale man beside Professor Snape was. He looked extremely nervous, and one of his pale blue eyes was twitching. What captured the most attention, however, was the large purple turban the man wore.

Harry soon looked away, as both Professor Snape and the professor wearing the turban were looking at him, the latter with no discernible emotion other than his nervousness and the former with traces of dislike. He hoped the professor had no preconceived notions about him. If he did, well, Harry would just have to settle them before they became a problem.

His attention turned toward the old hat on the stool. He wasn't surprised to see it, as Remus told him all about the sorting hat the week before, but he _was_ surprised when something that was rather like a mouth formed and the hat started singing. Harry listened attentively, learning little tidbits about the four houses and clapped appreciatively as the hat concluded its song. A glance at his brother told Harry that Jacob hadn't known about the hat at all.

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall said loudly and clearly, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"

The sorting, at least at the start, went more quickly than Harry expected it would. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were both sorted into Hufflepuff, while Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst were both sorted into Ravenclaw. Lavender Brown was then the first to be sorted into Gryffindor, and Millicent Bulstrode was the first to be sorted into Slytherin.

Harry missed the next few, having turned around to take in the students sitting at the four tables. His first thought about Slytherin house was that they seemed almost unpleasant, but a closer look showed him that only a few at the table really matched that description. There were other Slytherin students who looked proud, yes, but not unpleasant. Some even looked happy, or at least neutral. He wondered if his father and Sirius Black were just exaggerating about them.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

On the other hand, the Ravenclaw students looked like a quiet bunch, with few exceptions. Two of the boys who had just been sorted, Terry Boot and a boy Harry was pretty sure was named Michael Corner, were chatting excitedly as they watched the rest of the sorting. Terry caught Harry's eye and grinned encouragingly, and Harry grinned back, feeling a bit better now.

"Finnigan, Seamus!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Hufflepuff students looked like the happiest of the lot. Several of them from all different years were chatting amiably. The happiest was a tall girl with spiky purple hair, a hairstyle that was practically unheard of in the wizarding world, who was clearly a seventh year. Before Harry could look away, the girl's hair turned bright orange. He blinked several times, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him, before moving on to the last table.

"Goyle, Gregory!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Gryffindor table was the loudest of the four tables by far, and the center of that noise was two red-haired students that Harry had no trouble recognizing as Ron's older twin brothers, Fred and George. He hadn't seen them as often as he'd seen Ron growing up, since Ron was Jacob's best friend, but he'd seen them enough and liked having them around simply because of how fun they were. Like the Marauders had been in their days at Hogwarts, Fred and George were pranksters and mischief-makers at heart. Harry was certain they'd work at Zonko's after they were finished at Hogwarts.

"Granger, Hermione!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Behind him, Harry heard Ron Weasley groan. He wondered what Ron's problem with Hermione was.

Finished with his observations, he turned around and watched as Daphne Greengrass was sorted into Slytherin, where she quickly joined a brunette girl who was also just sorted, who Harry was pretty sure was named Tracey. He returned his attention once more to the sorting hat just as it sorted Wayne Hopkins into Hufflepuff.

They were almost halfway through now. Megan Jones was sorted into Hufflepuff as well, while Su Li was sorted into Ravenclaw and Neville Longbottom, who spent the longest amount of time sitting with the hat on, was sorted into Gryffindor. Harry, who knew Neville a little, clapped loudly at his sorting, and tried hard not to laugh when Neville left to sit down while still wearing the hat. The hat was quickly given to Morag MacDougal, who was quickly sorted into Slytherin. Draco Malfoy, called up after her, was sorted before the hat even touched his hair. Lily Moon went to Hufflepuff, and Slytherin also gained Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson.

To Harry's surprise, another set of twins was called: Padma and Parvati Patil. Padma was sorted into Ravenclaw, and she had already taken her seat next to Terry Boot before her sister was sorted into Gryffindor, where she quickly sat with Lavender Brown.

"Potter, Jacob!"

The resulting whispers were about what Harry had expected.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Jacob Potter?"

The excited murmurs continued as Jacob strode up to the stool and took his seat.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

It wasn't as quick to sort him as it was to sort Malfoy, but it was still quicker than most of the new students. Harry noted, half-amused and half-annoyed, that Professor McGonagall had no choice but to wait until the cheers died down and the Weasley twins finished whooping until she could continue.

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry gathered himself and walked up the steps to the stool as the hall broke out into murmurs once more.

"Wait, another Potter?"

"He looks just like Jacob!"

"Potter has a brother?"

The surprised chatters didn't bother Harry. He was never as prominent in the spotlight as his family, after all. During all of their interviews and press conferences, Harry had spent his time with Remus and had enjoyed himself far more than he would have being stared at by hundreds of strangers. What did bother him, however, was the curious stares he was receiving from the professors, particularly the nervous professor with the turban.

A moment later, he put the hat on his head and the hall disappeared as it fell over his eyes.

"Hmm," whispered a voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. A bit of courage, I see, and a sharp mind. There's talent in spades and a thirst to prove yourself, to step out of your brother's shadow. Now that's interesting … so where shall I put you?"

Harry, unsure if he was actually being offered a choice, thought to himself, _Not Slytherin, not Gryffindor …_

"Not Slytherin _or_ Gryffindor?" the hat mused, chuckling softly. "Even more interesting … very few have ever made such a request of me …"

_Not Slytherin, not Gryffindor …_

"You could be great, you know," the hat continued, seemingly ignoring his thoughts now. "You could be great, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that … and with a family history of primarily Gryffindor … of course, family history has no _real_ factor in a sorting, and there have always been exceptions …"

_Not Slytherin … not Gryffindor …_

"Rowena would certainly be proud to have a student like you in her house … I think there can be no question of how far you will go in RAVENCLAW!"

With great relief, Harry removed the hat and set it down on the stool again as the hall, led by the Ravenclaw students, clapped for him. Harry made his way to the area of the table where Terry Boot and Padma Patil were seated, sitting across from Padma. She smiled brightly at him and he smiled back, blushing a bit.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" she said as Sophie Roper went to Gryffindor. "Two sets of twins in one year, and both are separated by Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. I mean, what are the odds?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, looking up at the head table. "I imagine Professors McGonagall and Flitwick are surprised." He turned to face Padma again as Cynthia Runcorn joined the Slytherins at their table. "Are you upset that you're not in the same house as your sister?"

"A little," Padma admitted, "but I was always the more studious of the two of us, while Parvati was always more … gossipy, I guess. This will work out for the best." She turned toward the Gryffindor table, where Parvati and Lavender Brown were deep in conversation, before turning back to Harry. "What about you? Are you upset that you're not with your brother?"

Harry also faced the Gryffindor table, watching his brother chat excitedly with the Weasley twins while waiting for Ron, who had yet to be sorted, to join them. As Sally Smith passed across his line of vision on her way to the Hufflepuff table, Jacob looked over and caught Harry's eye. He frowned, apparently just noticing that Harry wasn't sorted into Gryffindor with him, before quickly turning away and laughing at something Fred had said.

"No," he said finally as Ron joined Jacob, "I'm OK with this. Like you said, it'll work out for the best."

* * *

**Tuesday, November 16, 2004  
5:55 PM**

Harry walked back to the Diagon Alley Apparition point in a decidedly worse mood than he'd been coming from it. Looking back, he wasn't sure why he bothered meeting Sirius at the pub. He supposed he really was curious. With a frown, he pushed all his thoughts of his conversation with Sirius together before closing his mind to the lot.

Despite Sirius, he knew he should speak to his family soon. Daphne, whose family was always close with one another, occasionally told him he should extend an olive branch of some kind. He knew she was right, as she so often was. But he still didn't know how to get close to them. He had his own life and they had theirs. He wasn't convinced a connection with them was possible when he was a child, and he wasn't convinced now.

A big part of that was how different he was from them on one key level. He was content with keeping a low profile, while they were thrilled to bask in the spotlight. Even he knew, however, that the spotlight days were over. While the Potter family was still famous and recognizable anywhere they went in the wizarding world, they had long since stopped receiving the awed looks and interview requests. The wizarding world acknowledged their importance and nothing further.

Harry didn't understand the appeal of fame. The idea of having every move he made scrutinized by the public, which included the press, was terrifying. Besides, the opinions of the masses could change at the drop of a hat. Harry hadn't forgotten the heir of Slytherin rumors in their second year, nor Rita Skeeter's slander in their fourth. Words could hurt, yes, but what was the point in really, truly caring about opinions that changed so easily?

"Harry!"

He stopped, but didn't turn around. He was just a few feet from the Apparition point, ready to return to his flat for the night, and wasn't interested in further conversation.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said quickly as he caught up. "I didn't mean to upset you – it's just –"

"Just what?" Harry asked coldly. "You told me you don't trust anyone associated with Slytherin house. That's a huge part of wizarding Britain, and maybe you weren't listening during our conversation, but my fiancée and several of my friends were in Slytherin. If you can't accept them, especially her, what do _we_ have left to talk about?"

"You didn't leave because of that," Sirius retorted. "You got angry about what I said about Malfoy and Snape –"

"No, I didn't," Harry interrupted. "I don't care what you think about them. You're a grown man and you're entitled to your opinions. What I take issue with is you telling me to break ties with people like them because _you_ don't like them." He half-turned and looked back at Sirius, his posture tall and unmoving. "Meeting with you was a mistake, but we only caught up for about forty-five minutes. We can go back to our lives after this relatively undisturbed. Before I do, though," he said, smoothly cutting across Sirius before he could interrupt, "I want to point out that if someone like Remus can move past blind prejudice and be civil, even friendly, with people like Draco Malfoy, I'd think you could, too."

The half-angry, half-apologetic look on Sirius's face vanished as he laughed at Harry's last words.

"OK," he said between chuckles. "OK, now I know you're pulling my leg. Remus on good terms with a Malfoy. I mean, come on."

Harry sighed and turned around again. This was a waste of his time. He wasn't even lying to Sirius. Sure, Remus and Draco didn't seek private conversation with each other, but the two were cordial with one another when they occupied the same room. There was tension between them, but there wasn't prejudice. Even Astoria, following her sister's and husband's examples, accepted and welcomed Remus on the rare times the younger Malfoy couple shared company with Remus's family.

But what was the point of explaining any of that? He certainly wasn't inclined to try convincing a man he barely knew, not when Sirius was so blind in his dislike, or perhaps hatred, that he was unable to look past a surname and think without bias.

"Believe what you want, Sirius," he said over his shoulder as he walked away. "Tell the Potters I said hello."

Sirius stopped laughing. Before he could say another word, however, Harry stepped into the designated Apparition point and smoothly Disapparated without a sound, ending their conversation for good.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 16, 2004  
6:00 PM**

It was strange that it had only been an hour and a half since he'd left work. Though he regretted meeting with Sirius, it was nice to reminisce about some of the bigger moments of his life. Those moments reminded him just how much he'd changed since his childhood, yet remained unchanged in other ways.

From his desk in the bedroom, he could hear someone entering the flat. Though there wasn't much of a doubt, a clicking of heels upon the floor told him it was Daphne.

"I'm home," she called out.

"In here," he called back.

Daphne walked into the room just as Harry stood up. With a bright smile, she moved to kiss him hello and let out a squeak of surprise when he pulled her up against him by her hips and deepened the kiss. She nonetheless responded in kind, her arms wrapping around his neck, and it was several seconds before she moved her head away.

"Wow," she said softly, her already rosy cheeks flushed. She brought her arms back down, leaving her hands on his chest. "What brought that on, hon?"

"I'm just really happy to see you," he replied, his forehead leaning against hers.

She was still smiling, but it flickered a little, showing her concern. "Is everything all right, Harry? Did something happen?"

Yes, he thought, but nothing he wanted to think about now.

He would tell her sooner or later that he met with Sirius and invited him to their wedding, only to cancel the invitation when he saw how much trouble he'd create by going through with it. He would still meet and talk with his family, of course, and extend an invitation to them, but if Sirius was any sign of what they were like, those invitations wouldn't last. There was just no point to that sort of hassle. It wasn't as though they were entitled to invitations, after all.

There was plenty of time to talk about all that later. Right now, he just wanted to spend some quality time with his fiancée and not think about anything else.

"Everything's fine," he assured her, adding truthfully, "It's just been a long day."

"I'll agree to that," Daphne replied with a nod, pecking him on the lips once more before pulling herself away. She shed her travelling cloak and shoes and sat down on the bed, massaging one stocking-clad foot with relief clouding her face. "I'll never understand why I wake up some mornings and decide I want to wear heels. Merlin, my feet are sore today."

"They do add to your overall sexiness," Harry offered as he pulled off his robe, letting it drape over the back of his chair.

Daphne looked up and poked her tongue out at him. "No question," she said cheekily, "but it's just not worth it sometimes, you know?"

"Here, let me," he said, taking a seat down next to her. She smiled delightedly and pulled herself back on the bed, allowing her to plop her foot on his lap while making herself comfortable. As he began massaging it, starting gently, enjoying the feel of the soft nylon running across his fingers, she let out a moan of pleasure.

"I love you so much, Harry," she said softly after a couple of minutes.

"Ah, you're OK," Harry teased. He leaned back to dodge the kick of her other foot and hurriedly added, "I'm kidding, dear, I love you too."

She just smirked at him and presented her other foot, which he obediently took in his hands and began massaging. Her sigh was even louder this time.

"So, do I get points?" he quipped.

"Points?" she replied happily. "We'll do pretty much whatever you want tonight." Her eyes danced with mischief as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, battered her eyelashes at him, and seductively ran her tongue over her lips. "_Whatever you want_."

Yes, Harry thought, life was pretty damn good just the way it was.

* * *

**Author's Note –  
**I've dabbled with this story on and off since mid-April. I'm still not one hundred percent satisfied with it, but I probably never will be. I might modify it at some point, though.

There won't be a direct sequel. I'll be writing some smaller one-shots based on this fic's world - because honestly, I liked Remus, Tonks, and Draco the more I wrote about them - but I don't think the story needs to directly include every character, particularly since it takes place in one day. The other three Potters were never going to have a direct role because the story isn't about them. No, it's about what they're like, and how they affected Harry. The story might not please everyone, but I've never been a big believer in letting the reader influence the story. I don't expect or demand reviews, though I certainly encourage them; I like getting feedback from my fellow writers here. If other people enjoy what I come with, that's a bonus for me.

Finally, it's probably obvious that I'm not European. In fact, I'm Canadian. As such, there's a lot of Americanized language. I can't help this and I'm not going to change it.


End file.
